


Back of the Line

by stanzas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Art, Character Study, Gen, Humor, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, HunkRevolution, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Multi, the pairing is implied as romantic but can be read platonic, unrealistic depictions of space time physics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanzas/pseuds/stanzas
Summary: Team Voltron searches the boundaries of an unusual star cluster as requested by the newly appointed Galra Emperor, Lotor. The team is divided on whether or not to investigate the strange phenomenon given the...uncomfortable team dynamics as of late.As expected, nothing goes according to plan.





	Back of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> -this is a hunk-centric fic done for [hunkrevolution bang](http://hunkrevolution.tumblr.com) which was supposed to be a big super hunk focused event. unfortunately people got busy so only a few people finished on time, but we're grateful for everyone who did!  
> ***note: if you got an email alert about this fic earlier it's because AO3 had a glitch and created 2 drafts by accident and then posted a THIRD draft that i didnt even realize it made. this is the right version. sorry***
> 
> -let! team! voltron! say! FUCK!  
> -uhhh this was written before season 6 is released so it's probably not going to be canon compliant after s6. but we'll see if my hit on lawnmower muckmoney and jay dee ess takes place before s6 is released bc i might get to finally take over the show as i am a superior writer to both of them  
> \- i just wanted a hunk centric fic and a dragon. idk im a basic bitch ok  
> \- i wrote most of this in one sitting and then the last part i wrote like 4 weeks later. im not sure how that effected the overall mood of the fic because i feel like it...might read somewhat disjointed. im not sure. that could just be me projecting my insecurities onto my own writing (as usual).  
> \- no beta because im gay and proper grammar is against the roolz  
> \- i got somewhat hyperfixated on bnha unfortunately so ive been working on fics for that. some day ill finally finish the long multichap college au klunk fic ive been working on for half a year...or not because i hate voltron and i am tired  
> \- my manic cycle might be coming to an end so dont expect to see me post anything again for like another year or so  
> 

_Above his head a million, a billion, an infinite amount of stars twinkling and smirking down at him. All stars he doesn’t recognize. All stars that he once thought beautiful while looking outside the castle late at night when the feeling of missing home stirred him to explore the deep passages below._

_These stars are cruel and daunting and unkind. These stars are not beautiful. They spell out among the sky,_ are you lost, little soldier?

_“--Hunk? Are you there? Come in, buddy. Can you hear me? --”_

_“Hunk --?”_

_He does not know these stars. These stars have sharp teeth and sharp eyes and laugh at his misfortune._

 

_He is very far from home._

* * *

 

“The mission is simple,” Allura says, and everything goes wrong from there.

Lance takes in the plan with palpable wariness. Hunk, although sitting behind him, can see the tension in Lance’s shoulders when Shiro agrees and disconnects the line from Lotor. Hunk eyes the map, and the charts and data compiled and received through the Castle’s data transfer unit. He doesn’t know if his disapproval is as obvious as Lance’s. It must be, since the uncomfortable tension manifests as a physical, pressing, invasive thing. The room is quiet for only a moment. Pidge, never one to hold her tongue, starts almost immediately once the connection is severed. “This is not a good idea.” she says.

Allura’s face pinches, and Hunk watches her brow tighten -- the stiff line in her jaw. “It is a low risk mission,” Allura replies, the heavy air of consideration pressing heavier on the room. Group meetings are more like warzones as of late. Hunk feels like every person in the room is walking on a minefield, except they’re all blindfolded and balancing a hula hoop as they take one step after another.

Allura breathes in. Hunk watches her swallow. It looks painful. He does not envy her position -- especially not now -- and likely never will. “Prin -- _Emperor_ Lotor has asked us of this, as we are the closest to the star cluster. The energy patterns are strange, and it is certainly...worth investigating.” Allura does not like the plan. Hunk notes the deep crease between her eyebrows, the fist she makes and releases while Shiro argues (pro-Lotor which is _predictable_ as of late, Hunk thinks, unable to contain the sharp bitterness that rises in the back of his throat) to proceed with the mission as planned.

Lance is notably silent. Hunk wonders when that changed. His dislike of Lotor was clear; that was a solid, known, well-documented understanding. Lance loudly and vehemently opposed anything that Lotor proposed. Now he is quiet. Hunk, riddled with his own doubts about the mission ahead, comes face to face with a new theory. Lance’s nonverbal disapproval is as loud as if he were to raise his voice. He eyes Lance warily expecting a blowout from him at any moment.

It does not come.

Pidge twists away from Shiro and marches from the room. Her shoulders are pulled up to her neck, and her arms are stiff and tight. He imagines she will head to her room, or her lion, and cool off for a while. Hunk knows she won’t abandon the mission. Pidge may not like the mission, but she is not disloyal.

“If anyone has any other objections, I’d like to hear them now.” Shiro says. It sounds like an order. It sounds cold and sharp and full of steel. It does not sound like Shiro. And that, Hunk supposes, is part of the problem.

Lance rises from his chair on the right and follows Pidge out the door. Hunk is caught in a moment of uncertainty and meets Allura’s eyes across the room. Her expression is dead-set, the face of somebody with their back to a wall and a wall ahead. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wonders if Alteans would know that human idiom, or if they have their own.

In the end, Shiro gets his way. He is the leader; although his attitude of late does little to reflect that.

After Shiro abandons the bridge to seek solitude or a nap in his room; although Hunk does not know where he vanishes to for hours at a time, and has found Shiro’s room and the training room empty on many occasions. Hunk turns to the main console. Allura left the coordinates and the map in the front console. The data about the energy readings Lotor sent remain fixed in the center.

“They are strange, aren’t they.” Allura says quietly beside him. Hunk almost forgot she was in the room. He didn’t notice her move, either. His mind is too heavy. It feels like the tense team dynamics are weighing further and further into the center of their goal. Like a bowling ball on a trampoline.

“The universe is filled with lots of strange things.” Hunk says. He squints at the numbers beside the readings -- they fluctuate too quickly to measure an average temperature or focal point. It’s like the energy is moving through space too fast for their monitors to register it, but the energy isn’t moving at all.

“It is indeed,” Allura murmurs.

Hunk shakes his head and turns away from the map. “Sometimes, you have to accept the strange stuff and move on. You could spend the rest of your life trying to figure out a puzzle that doesn’t even have an answer.”

Allura hums. “You think the mission is a bad idea.”

“Oh, absolutely. Terrible plan. My gut says there’s bad crap here.” Allura snorts. Hunk smiles despite the solemn and precarious situation they’re in. “I don’t mind the exploring bit. But I’m not on board with Lotor’s plan to...find a rift in the universe, or whatever he thinks he’s going to find.”

Allura nods slowly. “I’ve tried talking him out of it, but Lotor is...stubborn.” She takes a deep breath and there is a weight behind it that Hunk can feel in his own chest. _Just like his father_ , goes unsaid.

Hunk bites the inside of his lip and considers his next words. “No use worrying about it right now,” Hunk says. He does not know the magic words to soothe her mind. He doesn’t even know the magic words to soothe his own mind. “Maybe it’s for the best we investigate it alone. We can figure out what we’re dealing with without Lotor involved.” Allura dips her head slowly, the barest suggestion of a nod. “And we’ll be careful. If it looks dangerous, we’ll leave.”

“That’s the best we can hope for, I suppose.” Allura sighs. “You’re right. Best not dwell on it for much longer. We should rest and prepare for the journey tomorrow.” She tilts her head to the side. “Check in on Lance for me, will you?”

Hunk takes that for the clear dismissal that it is, and leaves Allura on the bridge alone with her thoughts.

“And Hunk?” Allura calls out as he’s already out the door. Hunk twists around and catches her smile before the door closes. “Thank you.”

Hunk’s feet move before he really thinks too much about it. He finds Lance in the training room. Hunk supposes in the absence of Keith, Lance inherited the red lion, the red bayard, and the previous red paladin’s nature for seeking solitude.

Lance shoots the legs out from under a training bot, and dodges under the swing from another. In a second his bayard flashes and lengthens -- a large red broadsword. He rolls and sweeps out the legs of another bot with the wide arc of his sword.

“Nice sword,” Hunk comments, breaking whatever deep concentration lay nestled in Lance’s firm expression. Lance told him about the new bayard form he unlocked much earlier, but this is the first time he’s seen it with his own eyes. Lance’s eyes flicker over to where Hunk stands on the opposite side of the gym. Hunk sees the tension in his shoulders from earlier hasn’t left. Like Allura, he is wrapping the insecurities and uncertainties about Shiro and the upcoming mission around himself, like an ill fitting blanket.

Lance straightens. “End training sequence,” he calls out, and the bots freeze and vanish under the flooring. He walks over to Hunk with a casual gait, but Hunk watches his steps and the way his entire face transforms into something more Lance-like. He sports an easy grin with tight, dark eyes.

“You like it?” Lance asks. Hunk is, quite frankly, insulted Lance is pulling this kind of behavior on him. Hunk knows Lance, and he knows the sight of a deep and troubling secret behind the wide closed seal of his teeth. He’s sensed Lance’s uneasiness for a while, but part of Hunk was afraid -- and part of him was unwilling to pry.

Part of him felt guilty, like the time when Allura and Lotor went on the mission and he dismissed Lance from the room for voicing his concerns too loudly. He knows he’s missed a few of the signs, but now they’re like a neon sign planted over Lance’s head: _something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong._ He has to trust Lance will tell him when the time comes. He hopes whatever it is isn’t life threatening, at least.

“Yeah,” Hunk says, because he’s not an idiot but if Lance wants to play it this way then he will too. “How’s it feel?”

“Different,” Lance rolls his shoulder. He winces, and Hunk figures he probably pulled something when he rolled earlier on the mat. “Look at me. I’m the sword guy now. I feel like any day I’m gonna sprout a mullet and find a swiss knife under my pillow.” Hunk’s own laugh surprises him; and Lance, too, based on the momentary openness of his expression.

Lance follows him to the bench and slumps down to remove his shoes and socks. He flings one of his socks toward the center of the training area. Since it’s a sock, it’s a feeble throw. Lance rubs his hands and turns back to Hunk with an easy grin. “If you catch me in a cropped jacket you better call for an intervention.”

“If it comes to that, I guess,” Hunk says. “You were awfully quiet at the team meeting today.” There. Like ripping off a bandaid.

Lance’s face has incredible power. For such an expressive person, he’s not very good at masking how he’s really feeling -- although he can pull an friendly smile out of his ass faster than anybody else Hunk knows, that technique only works on strangers and friends not as close to him. His face right now says he’s weary, and very angry. His face is telling of something even more important -- fear. Fear of what, Hunk isn’t sure. Despite both occupants in the room in plain sight -- Lance, himself -- the hair on the back of Hunk’s neck tingles.

“Yeah,” Lance continues, like Hunk’s comment is water rolling off a duck’s back. Like he’s unaffected. “Didn’t feel like talking much.”

Hunk reaches out and puts his hand over Lance’s shaking knee. It’s one of Lance’s nervous quirks, the one that used to drive Hunk crazy in class. Lance would jiggle his leg up and down and up and down and up and down the entire time, especially on days with in class exams.

“I’m fine,” Lance says. He stands and gently pushes Hunk’s hand out of reach. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

Not possible, Hunk thinks, and watches the retreating high line of Lance’s back as the training doors close behind him.

He looks back to the center of the room, and the sock Lance left behind. He doubts Lance will be back to pick it up. He sighs, picks himself up from the bench and collects the sock. He leaves it in Lance’s room. The room is empty, although Lance’s routine usually includes a shower after training. He doesn’t know where Lance goes; the castle is so large, many sections still unexplored, and Hunk doesn’t ask.

* * *

He might not have Pidge’s hacker genius brand of intelligence, but Hunk is very smart.

“My smart boy,” his tina bragged to relatives and teachers (and, really, anyone that would listen). “Did you hear he got into the Galaxy Garrison? Full scholarship. My boy, he did.” For all his genius, Hunk was never going to be a pilot in the garrison. He didn’t have the tight knuckle grip desire to soar among the stars, unlike his hard and starry-eyed companions.

He didn’t want to be a pilot. Fate is funny that way; he’s now one of the five most important pilots in the universe (and that’s not a boast to be made lightly). He might not be the best pilot, but he’s damned if he’s not as smart as one. Being a pilot is all instinct, really. And Hunk has great instincts.

His instincts tell him two important things, at this point in time: Something is not right with Shiro -- _and_ \-- Lance knows something about it.

Hunk doesn’t know the details of what, why, when, or how. He doesn’t know if maybe Shiro and Lance got into a row, or if Shiro told him something in confidence and asked him not to share with the rest of the team. Hunk picked it up after a solo mission with Shiro and Lance. Lance didn’t mention anything in their return report, but Hunk saw the wary hesitation between his pauses. He didn’t look at Shiro once. Now, Hunk thinks...it might not be that at all. Maybe Shiro is hiding something, and Lance found out. He doesn’t think Shiro knows -- or maybe Hunk is reading too much into it. Maybe it boils down to a disagreement between Shiro and Lance that hasn’t broken the surface yet.

If Lance’s simmering frustration and Shiro’s empty dismissal were a show of cold team interactions, then Pidge and Shiro’s superheated and volatile showdowns would melt the castle in a heartbeat. Both sides locked in a bitter iron tight wrestle grip with the other and neither side willing to let go. In the middle, there’s Hunk, doing his best to go through the motions and praying the whole ship doesn’t fall apart. Beside him, there’s Allura, grinding her teeth and burying her feelings under the universe’s heaviest cart of baggage and pushing forward.

His conversation with Pidge goes about as well as he expects.

“I don’t want to talk right now,” Pidge interrupts even before Hunk opens his mouth to form the words “ _Do you want to talk about --?_ ” and Hunk throws in the towel. It’s not worth arguing with Pidge about when a better opportunity to talk will occur. He knows how Pidge works, and if she says no, then no amount of pleading or begging will budge her. Like Lance, she’s an easy read. The disagreement with Shiro earlier is troubling her. Unlike Lance, she’ll find something to distract herself or build an upgrade for her bayard to take her mind off it. Unlike Lance, she won’t pick at the scab. She’ll wait for it to heal a bit, and then rejoin them and act like Business as Usual.

In a lot of ways, Pidge bounces back a lot better than the rest of them.

* * *

Hunk listens for the familiar sound of Lance’s door opening and closing. It’s past their recommended rest hour. Lance’s door remains untouched.

With restlessness simmering under his own skin, he slides on his slippers and ventures out of his own room. Subconsciously, he wanders over to Lance’s room. Three knocks go unanswered. Lance isn’t in his room. If he is, he fell into a coma.

His feet pull him to the kitchen, which isn’t surprising. On some nights before missions when his brain won’t stop the stream of What Ifs and This Could Go Wrongs he heads down to bake disgusting slimy cookies and save them for ping pong night. (Ping pong night entails Hunk lighting the cookies on fire, and then he, Lance, and Pidge use the zero gravity chamber and smack the flaming dough piles across the room with giant rackets.)

With purpose, he pulls his feet to the training area first. If Lance was evading sleep, he might be catching extra training hours and hiding it from the team. Hunk is relieved the training room is dark, but the anxiety returns about Lance’s true location.

The walk helps, a bit. He can focus on counting his steps, like he’d counted his breaths in his room earlier while sleep slipped and twisted just out of reach. He’s so caught up in measuring his steps he almost completely misses the conversation trickling down the hallway.

“ -- keeping whatever this is from the team is hardly helping matters either,” Allura’s voice filters out from the door. Hunk slows his steps and pauses before the kitchen door. “If you -- you can’t expect that kind of burden to weigh lightly.” Hunk considers making a noise, maybe clearing his throat to alert the others to his position. It sounds like Allura is talking to someone else, though, and her companion has yet to speak.

“Lance,” she says softly, and Hunk’s hesitation solidifies into a solid block of ice. “I know that -- I know we’re all struggling with our own battles, but we are a team. It doesn’t make you weaker, or -- we’ll never think less of you if you ask for help.”

“Thanks for sending Hunk after me earlier,” Lance replies, and although Hunk can’t see his face he imagines Lance’s twisted not-quite-smile. “And I...appreciate you --”

“We’re your friends, Lance, and pushing us away isn’t fair. To us. Or to you.” Allura’s voice is firm, and swings true and filled with more weight than Hunk expected from her. He hears the scrape of Lance’s chair, likely as he stands to leave.

“Lance --” Allura calls after him, a little desperate, and her voice is tight and pulled from her as if by force.

Hunk’s feet move again, really before he has a chance to think about the consequences. As he expected, Lance is halfway to the door and Allura is reaching behind him. Lance stops, as if trapped in a wall of ice. His expression doesn’t change, but Hunk sees the sting of betrayal in his eyes. Allura masks her surprise well, but Hunk sees her sudden hesitation.

Lance speaks first. “Hunk. Move.”

Hunk crosses his arms. He doesn’t say anything, or shake his head, but he knows Lance reads him as well as Hunk can read Lance himself.

“Thank you, Hunk,” Allura moves slowly behind Lance. Like trying not to spook a rabid animal. She reaches out her hand, slowly. No sudden movements, Hunk thinks, inanely. It falls on Lance’s shoulder, and Lance sags like a toy with their strings cut under the weight of it.

“We’re your friends, Lance.” Allura murmurs. Although she’s talking to Lance, her eyes meet Hunk’s face, and there’s something in her eyes that catches Hunk as well. Some sort of silent conversation between them that Hunk doesn’t capture. She looks at him like she’s searching for something, and he doesn’t know if she finds it because she returns her gaze back to Lance as if nothing happened. “We don’t want to fight you, and I would hope...I would hope you don’t want to fight you either.”

Lance’s hand twitches, and he ducks his head. Hunk drops down the two small steps into the room, moving with the same cautious and slow steps like Allura. He stops short of Lance and hovers his hand over Lance’s other shoulder.

“If this is about Shiro --” Lance’s head flies up, that unreadable and wary mask from earlier setting into place. Hunk parses his words with more caution at that reaction. “-- we can’t force you to talk about it.” He meets Allura’s eyes on the other side of Lance’s shoulder, who moves in closer to wrap her other arm around Lance’s arm. “But as your friends, we’re worried. We want you to know you can tell us anything. And we’ll have your back.” Allura nods, and her lips twitch like she wants to smile. The searching gaze in her eyes returns to Hunk’s face, and she must be satisfied with what she sees this time because she steps to the side, to face both Lance and Hunk.

Lance takes in their words with -- Hunk isn’t sure what lays under his expression. It’s frustrating, talking to Lance like this.

“Thank you,” Lance says, and his voice is so low it’s practically a whisper. Hunk leans in to catch his next words. “And...I’m sorry.” For a moment, whatever is holding him at arm's reach releases and Hunk sees the pure relief and bone-aching tiredness in the lines of Lance’s eyes and the tightness in his jaw. The mask snaps back into place.

Quietly, Lance says -- “It’s not you. Either of you. Believe me…” he exhales, deep and slow. “But...it’s...more than me. It’s too...it’s messy. And very complicated.” _I can’t talk now_ , his eyes beg. _But if I could, I would_.

Hunk supposes that’s the best he can hope for. He startles a bit at the warmth in his hand, and looks down to see Allura’s hand slide into his. He glances to her other side to see her other hand entwined in Lance’s.

“We’ll wait then. For when you’re ready.” Allura says. She looks at Lance, and then Hunk. Hunk nods and almost stumbles when Allura uses their interlocked hands to pull him closer to their small circle of three. Hunk hesitates for a moment, and he’s sure Allura must sense the sweat forming in his palm but he reaches his hand out to Lance, and waits.

Lance stares at his hand. “What are we, middle schoolers?” he mutters, and drops his other hand in Hunk’s. Hunk huffs, his laugh chased away by the small smile that transforms Lance’s face. It’s solid. It’s real. Allura squeezes his hand, a sign of support. A sign of strength. Lance drops his head into Hunk’s shoulder, and Allura leans in with much more caution onto Hunk’s other arm. Like she’s afraid if she presses too much of her weight, he might fall apart beneath her.

A strange sight they make, Hunk thinks. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding hands and heads folded into one another like they’re committed to a prayer.

* * *

_“--Hunk!”_

_“ -- hang in there, buddy, don’t move, okay?”_

_“ -- something’s moving in the --”_

_“-- could be a trap--”_

_“-- I think I see a --”_

_“-- shit! Shit! Fall back, get out of the --”_

_“--lost signal and the --”_

_“--heard from Hunk?”_

_“--ello? Can anybody hear me?”_

_“--it’s just the three of us we lost connection to --”_

_“--no hostile life forms but I think there’s a -- Oh, oh.”_

_“ --wrong?”_

_“Hello?”_

_“Is there…”_

_“...anybody there?”_

* * *

Hunk regains consciousness in stages. He takes in his surroundings slowly. As he blinks and rubs his eyes, he comes to three very bad conclusions:

There appears to be a tree in front of him. And a ground. He is not in space.

His coms are silent. Which means the other paladins are nowhere near him.

He has a concussion.

He comes to a fourth, even more terrible conclusion, as he regains feeling in his arms and legs and opens his eyes: Yellow isn’t responding.

“Yellow? Buddy?” The cockpit remains dark. “Okay, rest up then,” Hunk lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’m gonna...take a nap.” His own breathing seems louder in the empty cockpit. He leans back and closes his eyes. A quick nap can’t hurt, right?

He wakes up again, later, after an indefinite time passes and startles out of a terrifying nightmare about Zarkon hosting a runway show and forcing all the paladins into terrible white spandex. The imagery was horrifying. Hunk rips off his helmet and leans over and loses his lunch all over the side of his chair. Not from the dream -- concussion.

“Great.” Hunk says, wiping his chin and jaw with the side of his arm. He presses a hand to his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Just great.”

Alteans really prepared for everything, Hunk thinks, after he digs out a pail and cleaning supplies from Yellow’s internal storage. He does a quick pass over the food and hydration cubes, performing a quick mental calculation. He can last about two weeks with his current supply; maybe three if he stretches it and rations it. Best to prepare for the worst case scenario. The universe is harsh and unforgiving, and Hunk knows from his Terrible And Exhaustingly Unbelievable track record he’s never had good luck in situations like these.

After cleaning the cockpit, he pops a hydration cube in his mouth and grabs a packet of space dried goo. It tastes worse than normal goo. “This sucks,” Hunk confides with Yellow, even though his systems are offline. “Really hope you wake up soon, buddy.”

Yellow does not wake up the next day. Or the next. By the third day, Hunk decides it’s time to face the music and leaves the sanctity of Yellow’s cockpit to explore his new temporary home planet. Everything on this planet is _bright_. Hunk’s fairly used to the weirdness of alien planets, but this planet looks like the inside of a neon paint factory. Plants are neon pink. Trees are neon purple. The ground is neon blue. The sky is neon orange. The colors are overwhelming.

Hunk doesn’t travel too far from Yellow, keeping the downed lion’s body within sight as he takes stock of the nearby environment. He appears to be in some sort of valley, with a neon red river running down the middle. Yellow is propped up against flattened trees and a crater from their rough landing.

The planet’s cycles are average. Twenty-six hour days. Hunk catalogues the nearby plants with a holopad and analyzes the leaves for consumability purposes. Everything is poisonous for humans. As is the atmosphere, with limited to no oxygen present in the air. He can’t even take off his helmet. Figures.

Strangely, there’s nothing else on the planet. He doesn’t pick up any heat signatures, or signs of life. Besides the plants.

“Just you and me, bud.” Hunk sighs, propping himself against Yellow’s head. He stumbles as he climbs across the front of Yellow’s jaw and pulls himself onto the lion’s head. At this height, he can see for miles across the valley. Purple trees and an orange horizon that stretch for infinity.

He looks up at the stars. Through the orange haze of the atmosphere, they’re harder to find. There are no familiar constellations. He is alone. Loneliness presses heavy upon his chest; a phantom weight. Even during their last Getting Tossed Half Way Across the Universe instance, he wasn’t alone. He had Lance with him. He hasn’t felt this alone since his first few days at the Garrison, when he was still struggling to adjust to being so far away from home and hadn’t made any friends. Even then, though, he wasn’t alone.

He doesn’t know what happened to the other paladins. He remembers a flash of light; Lance’s voice calling out for him, and then darkness. They could be dead. He hasn’t had any contact with them in days. No sign of the castle. He could be the last member of Voltron.

No, he decides. If the others were gone -- he would know, somehow. They’re fine. They’re probably lost somewhere in space, like him. After the wormhole incident, getting tossed across the galaxy is basically a walk in the park for them. They’re fine. He’ll find a way back. Or they’ll track him down. His team hasn’t failed him before.

He’s grateful for his helmet. It hides the wetness under his lashes as he blinks quickly. Pushing down the lump in his throat, he pats the surface of Yellow’s head. “Not in Kansas anymore, huh? Don’t you worry, bud. We’re gonna be fine.”

* * *

Hunk begins talking to himself by the fifth day for the sake of not losing his mind from the _absolutely mind numbingly boring silenc_ e.

“One ugly tree, two ugly trees, three ugly trees…Oh, look, another ugly ass tree. Wish I had my camera.” If something responded to his rambling monologue, Hunk isn’t sure if he would be terrified or relieved. He’s leaning towards relieved. “Did I pass that rock already? I’m lost. I’m lost! That’s just...fantastic.”

He trips over a tree root and releases a string of curses that would make his tina’s ears flush. His leg smarts from where he skidded across the rocky soil. “God fucking --” Hunk unsteadily props himself up against a tree and frantically searches his suit for any signs of wear. “-- _fuck_.”

He tripped over the root because one of the shrubs tried to _eat him_. Hunk hates this planet. He hates all the ugly evil plants. He hates the polluted orange sky. He hates the shitty trees and all the shitty shrubs. He hates this fucking trip.

The valley is about four hundred steps across at its widest. Hunk knows this because he walked the entire surface from end to end. Yellow is still offline. He tried tinkering around in Yellow’s interface, to try and start a manual reboot but his efforts were fruitless. Yellow remains stubbornly asleep.

Using his shield to press through the densest of the vines and ( _absolutely_ _fucking terrible evil)_ sticky shrubbery, he makes his way into a clearing beyond the valley. Hunk doesn’t know how large the planet is, but it appears fairly large. Although, an ant can’t tell the difference between the surface of a beach ball and the surface of an air balloon. Hunk is the ant in this scenario.

He still hasn’t seen any other signs of life. It’s a lonely planet, if that’s the case. No birds. No bugs. Maybe everything lives underground because the air on the surface is so hostile and mercilessly covered in plants that want to kill everything in their vicinity.

Clearing aside the last layer of thick vines and vegetation, he comes to the an open area outside the valley. On the other side of the rock walls, finally free of the evil plants and giant trees. Hunk heaves a deep sigh and scans his new environment.

There, perhaps a hundred feet away in the middle of the clearing, is a dragon.

It’s not actually a dragon, but Hunk sees the reptilian snout and gold scales and its size and trips over himself to scramble away and take cover. “Holy shit holy shit _holy shit holy shit_ ,” he releases another long string of curses as he stumbles and crawls behind a massive striped tree.

The dragon doesn’t appear interested in Hunk. It stays, dozing, and completely unaware of Hunk’s presence. Hunk would like to keep it that way, since he doesn’t feel like becoming a giant alien dragon’s mid-afternoon lunch. Or maybe dinner. He lost track of the hours, it might be close to sun down. He stays, crouched, lowering his racing heartbeat and taking calm, measured breaths. No freaking out.

“ _No freaking out_. That’s funny, because I’m _so_ freaking out.” Hunk mutters. The dragon stirs. It lifts its massive head, and Hunk’s heart drops into his stomach and falls out of his ass. He’s going to die and he’s going to be eaten by a giant dragon in the middle of this fucking awful ugly planet and --

There’s a hum. An electric thrumming in the air; like the sound of a weapon charging and preparing to fire. Hunk only has a moment to wonder, before the dragon rises and emits a skull-splitting shriek. A second later, an enormous dark ship emerges out of the shadow of a passing cloud.

“Oh, fuck,” Hunk says, and when he turns around he comes face to face with the second inhabitants of the planet. Predictably, like everything else on this _suck ass planet_ , they aren’t looking to make friends.

* * *

Why is Hunk in a cell? Because he’s an idiot. Because he’s an idiot with the worst luck of anybody in the galaxy. The aliens who stumbled into him fired a stun gun and dragged him aboard their fucking terrible and evil spaceship. Hunk was awake for the entire journey, glaring at his captors with as much venom as he could muster. He wonders if he mastered the Keith Scowl but his mouth was also frozen mid-shout so he doubts he pulled it off. His limbs are locked into an uncomfortable stiff position. _After this, I’m taking a nice long vacation_ , Hunk thinks. _I really nice long vacation. Someplace with a beach._

His alien captors toss him into a cell. Hunk’s limbs unfreeze the moment he’s released and the door closes. Great.

He isn’t expecting _another_ alien in the cell. They snatch his helmet off while he’s still off-guard, chattering and squealing as he lunges after them. “Hey!” Hunk protests. “That’s mine! I need that. Give that back!” The -- _jelly bean shaped lump with arms_ \-- chatters in response. It sounds like a squirrel, or like a small rodent. God, he hates space.

The blue jellybean squirrel takes to smacking Hunk in the face with it’s jellybean arms and screaming unintelligibly. “Gimme the --” Hunk jumps after the alien and tackles it. The moment he wraps his arms around the jellybean squirrel, it shrieks and wriggles out of reach.

Hunk slumps onto the floor, defeated. “Fine. Keep it.” The chattering jellybean pauses, and glances back at Hunk. It’s eyes glimmer with intelligence. Smarter than a squirrel, then.

Hunk gestures for his helmet, and back at his mouth. The short blue jellybean alien glances at Hunk’s helmet. He gives a curt shrug, and they hand the helmet back to Hunk. Hunk slowly lowers it onto his head, mindful of his injured shoulder from where he bruised it after falling.

“Alright. No more hitting.” Hunk says, and hopes his helmet is working enough to still function as a translator. “My name is Hunk. I’m the yellow paladin of Voltron.”

“ _Voltron_ ,” the blue alien repeats. Hunk can’t read it’s face, but he would say the alien looks curious. It cocks it’s head to one side. “You are quite the distance from the Coalition, paladin.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says. “Believe me. I know.”

* * *

“They are pirates,” the blue jellybean explains. The jellybean’s name is Jiraxo. Hunk gave up questioning the meaning behind alien names a long time ago. “They pillage planets and take...prisoners. For purposes I have yet to understand.”

“At least they’re not the Galra,” Hunk grumbles. “Then we’d be in a different kind of shit boat.”

Jiraxo cocks his head to the side. “Shit boat?”

“Nevermind.” Hunk says. “So what are these guys? Besides, pirates, obviously. What’s their goal? Why prisoners?”

“They are cruel.” Jiraxo summarizes. “And beings of such cruel nature often take actions that rational minds would not.”

“Huh,” Hunk says. “So who else is in here?”

“A hundred or so other prisoners. There’s perhaps a dozen pirates on the ship, but they are fast. They are silent, which is why they capture loners and stragglers. Like myself. Like you.”

“I’m not a --” Hunk snaps his mouth shut. “I’m just lost.”

“Lost? On this side of the galaxy?” Jiraxo blinks slowly. “May I ask how a paladin of Voltron would wind up on a planet such as this?”

“Uh...a mistake?” Hunk offers, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m trying to find a way back, but my lion is kinda...taking a pretty long snooze. I can’t get in contact with the other paladins.”

Jiraxo nods. “There are communication devices aboard this ship. Along with escape pods. I am sure someone with your capabilities can get ahold of one.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” Hunk says, frowning. “Or any of the other prisoners.”

Smiling sadly, Jiraxo gestures helplessly at the door. “I don’t believe you’ll have much of a choice, paladin.”

“No.” Hunk says. The pirates are idiots. Hunk may be an idiot in a cell, but he’s an idiot with a _massive gun_. They didn’t check him for weapons after they captured him. The pirates are cocky, and this miscalculation will cost them dearly. Cocky, or stupid. Hunk personally prays they’re just really stupid, but he knows with his luck that’s far from likely. Maybe he should pray that _Hunk_ is stupidly lucky instead. “How do you feel about a jailbreak?”

* * *

The jailbreak part is easy. Hunk blasts the door open with his bayard, and bashes in the skull of the guard at the door. The guard drops like a ragdoll. Jiraxo grabs the guard’s gun and dashes off on his...jelly legs towards the other cells.

Bayard out, he makes a slow trek down the halls. He glances over his shoulder to make sure there’s no pirates sneaking up behind him. “Okay, Hunk. Think. Where would a bunch of pirates hide a console.”

He blasts open the next door and finds the command center. Good news: there looks like there’s a ton of equipment inside that could definitely send out an SOS signal and reach the castle’s emergency radar detector. Bad news: there are a lot of pirates also inside.

“Oops,” Hunk says, which are terrible last words. The pirates appear to agree and raise their weapons. Hunk raises his bayards and thinks, _The beach better come with a space bar and an ice cream shop._

For fearsome pirates, they don’t give up much of a fight. Or maybe this time Hunk caught them by surprise, and there’s not a lot that stands in the way of him and his giant gun. He releases his bayard and hops over to the control panel. In the strain of Bad Luck that is Hunk’s life, he can’t read any of it. There’s no microphone button. Smashing half the buttons in a frantic search for a “GALACTIC HELP MESSAGE THING” doesn’t help, but it definitely relieves some of his frustration. “Why can’t everything be labelled nice and easy?” he complains. “Like, big doomsday button here. Evil ray gun here. Self destruct button.”

The translator through his helmet helpfully decodes the screen in front of him: _SELF DESTRUCT IN 4:59._

“Great!” Hunk takes out his gun and blows up the console. One of the aliens must’ve hit it. Or Hunk accidentally started the self destruct countdown when he smashed through the keypad. He decides to go with the first theory.

Running down the hangar and returning to the cells is the next best strategy. He spots Jiraxo and a host of other aliens already sitting in a pod. Jiraxo raises his hand to acknowledge Hunk, and Hunk watches the pod release and fall out of the ship’s cavity. He turns to the pod beside it and hits the button on the side for the door.

A message on the screen next to the door pops up. “OUT OF ORDER.”

“Oh, perfect!” Hunk says, and slaps the screen helplessly. “ _Great!_ Awesome!”

Racing back down the hangar of cells, his mind races to determine the next best route of exit. He has his suit and helmet; he won’t die if he ends up outside the ship without a pod. Except the ship isn’t too high in the atmosphere. If he finds a way out... _freefall_. That’s if he doesn’t explode into a million Hunk-bits after the ship self destructs.

A low growl from one of the cells interrupts his cycle of panic. Did Jiraxo forget one of the prisoners?

He peers in through the bars on the cell. It’s not a prisoner. It’s the dragon -- the same dragon from the clearing. Why would the pirates put so much effort into capturing a dragon? His life is a fucking nightmare. He’s going to die here. He’s stuck on a ship set to self destruct, and his only companion is a giant dragon. A dragon with wings. Wings.

Hunk whimpers. “Oh man, I _hate_ when I have _terrible_ good ideas.”

* * *

Hunk is riding a dragon. That sentence is mindblowing in itself. Although, “ride” would imply Hunk has some type of control over the dragon he’s on, which he absolutely does not. Instead, he’s clinging onto the dragon’s back scales for dear life and praying he doesn’t fall off and die in a truly horrific and uneventful tragedy. There will be nobody able to find him after his body turns into paste against the rocky soil below.

Hunk screams when the dragon dives, speeding down towards the surface of the planet.

 _Stop screaming_ , a voice says in his mind. Yellow, Hunk thinks for a moment, relief turning his brain from catatonic panic into heart crushing relief.

 _I am not yellow,_ the voice replies. _I am the color of rich gold. I am the shade of the stars as they set upon a molten metal sky_.

“What?” Hunk says aloud. Or, he tries to say aloud, except the wind pressure makes opening his mouth practically impossible.

The ship explodes in the sky above him. The dragon weaves and dances out of the way of falling debris. Hunk presses him against the dragon’s back and chants _I am going to die I am going to die I am going to die oh my God I’m going to fucking die here_ in his mind.

 _You are still screaming_ , the voice interrupts. It sounds almost...weary.

 _I’m going fucking crazy,_ Hunk thinks.

_Expletives appear to be largely common in your vocabulary._

Hunk doesn’t know what to say to that. The dragon spirals, twisting and whirling out of the remainder of the debris, and plummets the remaining distance to the ground. Hunk doesn’t bother screaming. His mind is frozen, a livewire of tension. Absolutely no coherent thought.

The dragon catches itself at the last moment and lands, dropping to the ground and lifting loose rocks and shrubbery as it lands. It blows the baby foliage under it’s massive wings into a whirlwind of dust and air.

Hunk’s arms give out. He slides off the dragon’s back and lands awkwardly on his back. He wonders what Lance would say in this situation. “Holy _fucking shit in Christ_.” Hunk mutters aloud. Yep. That sounds very Lance.

The dragon’s tail weaves through the leaves and low grass. Hunk tenses as it touches the sole of his foot. _I can only communicate through contact_ , the voice says. _I thank you for rescuing me from a terrible fate. For that, I am in your debt._

“Uh,” Hunk says. Maybe his luck is finally turning for the better. He did just ride out of a giant exploding ship on the back of a dragon alien thing. Lance is going to be so jealous -- or, Lance is going to be very jealous. After Hunk finds a way to get in touch with him and the rest of the crew. “Cool.”

The dragon hums. _Something troubles you, young...warrior._

Hunk heaves himself up onto his elbows and groans. His back is killing him. “I’m not -- I’m not really a warrior. Or, actually, I guess -- well. I’m a paladin of Voltron.”

 _Voltron_ , the dragon repeats, carefully. _I have heard...that name before. What is Voltron?_

“A giant robot lion with five heads and a really big weapon.” Hunk summarizes. “I’m one of the pilots.”

 _Fascinating_ , the dragon says. _I thank you for your selfless act of bravery, paladin of Voltron._

“Call me Hunk.” Hunk says. He pats the dragon’s scaly -- _slimy_ \-- tail and grimaces. “What should I call you?”

 _I have no name. But you named me. Yellow_.

“Yeah that’s my lion.” Hunk makes a face. “I can’t call you both the same name. That would be confusing.”

 _Your lion_ , the dragon hums. _I sense you wish to return to it._

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

 _I will take you there_ , the dragon promises.

“Cool.” Hunk says. He feels rather lightheaded. Jumping thirty thousand feet out of the side of an exploding ship on the back of a dragon will do that, he guesses. “I think I’m gonna name you...Lucky. Because, buddy, you’re the best stroke of luck I’ve had all week.”

Lucky the dragon doesn’t appear to mind the new nickname. Hunk braces himself for another naseauting flight and clings to the back of Lucky’s head and focuses on not throwing up inside his helmet. That’d be super gross. Lucky flies for miles, scanning for signs of “ _big yellow lion robot_ ” at Hunk’s instruction. Hunk doesn’t know how he falls asleep on the back of a flying dragon but it’s been...a pretty wild day.

He wakes up on the ground. Lucky’s head is propped up against him, offering a suggestion of a pillow.

 _Your dreams are troubled_ , the dragon says. _You miss your pack._

“Yeah,” Hunk says softly. It’s been -- a week? More than a week? -- since he last heard the voices of the other paladins. Space is enormous. Space is infinite. It feels even more infinite without the rest of his friends at his side. Space stretches for miles upon millions of miles in every direction. He doesn’t know how long until his friends regroup, narrow down his location, and travel to this ugly planet and rescue him from (near certain) peril. If nothing on the planet eats him, he’ll die of dehydration first.

He wishes he had more time. The memory of Allura’s arms on his shoulder, the warmth of Lance’s head resting on his arm -- that has to be enough. He has to get back to them. He has to make it home to his tina and his mom. He’s not going to die out on some unnamed planet in space.

The dragon interrupts his dramatic self reflection. _Your thoughts especially focused on your mates. Two. Pink...and blue._

Hunk jumps off the ground. “Yeah, okay. Enough of that.” He takes a break from freaky-mind-telepathy-bullshit to stretch a good distance away from his...dragon companion. Mates. “What in...” Hunk mutters. _Mates_. “ _Christ…_ ”

Lucky prods him in the back with its tail. _I meant no offense._

“It’s fine,” Hunk says reflexively, and bites down a hysterical laugh. He’s having a heart-to-heart with a giant alien dragon. A giant, gold, alien dragon. On a planet that he might never escape. Millions, even trillions of miles away from his home. God, his life is crazy.

A wailing cry fills the trees. Hunk’s head snaps up, one hand at his side -- ready to pull out his bayard if necessary. Lucky doesn’t seem too concerned at the sound, so he rests his hands in a neutral position. _That is my mate,_ Lucky explains. _She is restless. She worries. I did not return as I was meant to._

“Oh,” Hunk says. “Do you...do you need to go back?”

The dragon emits a wordless wave of sadness. _She is very ill. Our kind is born of the hearts of dying stars, and we burn with the power of the sun. Even stars grow cold. Even stars must die._

“That sucks, man.” Hunk says. “You should…” He scrunches his nose and blows out a frustrated huff of air. “I’ll find my lion. On my own. You get back to your...mate.”

 _I owe you another debt_ , the dragon says, relieved. _If there comes a time you have need of me, return to this place. My kind are rare. There are so few of us left. I have no right to ask of you, but should you return from your great battle...please pay one last visit. Let me tell you the story of my kind when we once ruled among the stars._

“I will.” Hunk promises. The dragon withdraws their tail, barbed ridges and plates sliding into a careful symmetry of wings -- like a rudder. The dragon’s wings snap forward, launching its massive body above the trees in a monsterous rush of air. Hunk stumbles and steps back, lifting his head to watch the dragon rise and vanish into the low-sailing orange clouds.

Hunk looks back at the forest. It seems far less inviting than it did when he had a dragon on his side. “I think I’ll sleep out here, instead.” Hunk says aloud. He glares at the line of trees, and it might be his imagination but one of the shrubs wilts and retreats solemnly back into the shadows.

Hunk does not sleep easy. The ground is hard. The stars above him are harsher, relentlessly pressing into the back of his vision even with his eyes closed.

Dawn breaks. A new day. Hunk awakes to the sound of an engine, and the sound of a lion’s roar that shakes the field in half. Hunk clambers to his feet in an instant, scanning the horizon and the sky for the familiar colors red, blue, green, black. He spots the hazy outline of a red shape in the distance; growing larger and larger by the second.

Hunk lifts both arms, and releases a cry; victorious.

* * *

Allura rushes out of the red lion’s mouth even before it lands. She leaps and ducks into a roll, coming to stand beside Hunk. Under her helmet, she’s grinning and laughing.

Hunk opens his mouth and asks here where Lance is, and his answer walks out of Red’s mouth behind her. Lance has his gun out, but he relaxes into an easy smile when he spots Hunk.

Allura and Lance open their mouths and speak, lips moving, but Hunk can’t hear anything besides a soft murmur. Like they’re talking to him from the room over. Hunk frowns and taps his helmet. He points at Lance and says, purposefully dramatic, “I can’t hear you.”

Lance frowns. He says something to Allura, who nods. They usher him back into Red. Once the doors are sealed, Hunk rips off his helmet and takes in grateful breaths of clean air. “Your transmitter must be out of sync,” Allura says, after she removes her own helmet. Her hair spills out, wild, and Hunk notices without the helmet barrier there are deep shadows under her eyes. “We’ll have you fixed up at the castle as soon as possible.”

“Thanks,” Hunk says. “And thanks for finding me.”

Allura smiles. She doesn’t add anything. Lance redirects the attention and shrugs off his own helmet. “Man, we were really worried when we found Yellow,” Lance shakes his head. “He was empty. Dark, too. We’ll probably have to tow him back to the castle.”

“Everyone’s alright, though?” Hunk asks. “You found everyone?”

Allura’s brows draw together. “Hunk, you were the only one we couldn’t find. When we searched the star cluster, you shielded Lance and Pidge with your lion from the beam of energy it released. We’ve been looking for _weeks_.”

Hunk has no memory of this. “Uh...okay. But everything’s okay up there?”

Allura and Lance exchange a glance that speaks more words than necessary. “After the energy beam, our lions have been...semi-functioning at best. The red lion was in the best shape, which is why Lance and I flew down together. We’re hoping reuniting the lions in the castle will -- reset their energy signatures in a sense.”

“Makes sense,” Hunk says. That sounds like something Pidge would reason. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

“We received a strange distress signal about a day ago from this sector of uninhabited planets.” Maybe Hunk’s luck isn’t all bad, if the pirate ship managed to send out a signal. “We came across an abandoned escape pod floating in the upper atmosphere.”

“Oh, Jiraxo!” Hunk had hoped they escaped to the planet surface safely, but perhaps the escape pod had other plans and tried to take them into the wild expanse of space instead.

Allura nods severely. “Yes, their group was very thankful for our aid. One of them spoke of you, and mentioned you escaped the ship as well. They suggested you were still on the surface, or had escape onto it somehow.”

Escape is not the right word. Hunk can tell them all about it later. And the dragon. “I’m happy to be found,” Hunk says. “So, we pick up Yellow and head back, right?”

“That is the plan, yes.” Allura lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I am very happy you are alright, Hunk. We’ve all been very worried about you.” She nudges Lance with her elbow.

Lance makes a face at her. “He knows I was worried, jeez. I’ll get my hug later. I just wanna get back to the castle.”

Hunk laughs, and picks Lance up into a hug anyway. “Time for an intervention! If you’re gonna be grumpy, I’ll just start calling you Keith.”

Allura chuckles. Lance scowls, but his expression morphs into relief and he, too, laughs. Hunk releases him, settling into the back of the cockpit beside Allura and prepares for takeoff. Lance waltzes over into his chair, easing the controls into a neutral position. Red lifts his head off the ground and Hunk shifts his weight, trying not to stumble into Allura. The lion stops half-way. Allura raises an eyebrow, meeting Hunk’s gaze with a question behind her eyes.

Lance turns back in his seat. In the low light of the cockpit, the angles of his face look much sharper than Hunk ever thought. Or maybe his own deep space adventure was as arduous and treacherous as Hunk’s own.

Hunk steps forward and places his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Let’s head home, buddy.”

Lance purses his lips and Hunk is close enough to see his hands shaking from where they grip the console.

“Hey,” Hunk leans in a bit closer, testing the boundaries. As far as he can tell, Lance isn’t physically injured. “Everything okay?”

Lance closes his eyes and releases his hands from the controls. He turns to face Hunk, and his face transforms again -- the joy morphs into something darker, and more confusing.

“Before we head back, I need to say something.” Lance says. The urgency in his voice stops Hunk dead in his tracks. He feels Allura tense up beside him. “No matter how crazy or messed up it sounds, you have to trust me.”

“Of course we do, Lance,” Hunk murmurs. Lance turns away, his back to the occupants in his cabin. “You can tell us.”

The red lights in the cockpit aren’t helping diffuse the tense aura in the room. Finally, Lance sucks in a huge breath, and turns back around. He looks grim, and despite the uncertainty weighing thick in the room like black tar smoke, Hunk doesn’t feel the creeping tingle of anxiety seize his heart. He has Lance and Allura by his side. He fought half the universe to take back his seat beside his friends.

Lance’s eyes flicker down and return to settle on Hunk’s face and passes over Allura’s sharp gaze. He doesn’t look scared, or at least not the same frightened child expression that crossed over his face a moment ago. He looks scared, but determined. He looks like someone ready to battle for the sake of living.

“I need to talk to you about Shiro.” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> -thank you to [sassy-bean-queen](http://sassy-bean-queen.tumblr.com) for doing art for my fic!!! you can check out the rest of the art [here](https://sassy-bean-queen.tumblr.com/post/174710534443/so-i-had-the-honor-of-making-art-for-nerdhunk-s) or reblog it :'^)  
> -i hope this made sense; this is set before where i imagine s6 would start? keith is still off doing whatever with the bamboo of mimosa, shiro is still a fucking CLONE, and lance figured out he's a clone and is struggling to decide what to do about it.  
> \- i hate writing
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[nerdhunk](http://nerdhunk.tumblr.com)


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